Difficile
by LaStrada
Summary: Not once in his life did Abbacchio feel so weak. And lost. Not once. All of that, because of an infuriating little brat.


Preface

**Stripped**  
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at /works/22209946.

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Underage Category: M/M Fandom: ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Relationship: Leone Abbacchio/Giorno Giovanna Character: Leone Abbacchio, Giorno Giovanna Additional Tags: Age Difference, Explicit Sexual Content, Denial of Feelings, Confusion, Angry Sex, Teasing Stats: Published: 2020-01-11 Chapters: 1/3 Words: 2267 Stripped

by LaStrada

Summary

"I still don't know why you hate me... I didn't do anything to you, Leone. Really.." The ex-cop felt goosebumps all over his body. He couldn't help it, he wanted to push the kid away, to flee : but it was just as if a silent presence was preventing him from doing so, ordering him with silent orders to stay still and listen. "...We're going to have to work together, in the next few days.. I'm sure we could become great friends.." "..All you need to do is to let your guard down. That's all you need to do.."

Notes

French translation available soon !  
Si dolce è'l tormento : watch?v=g6e43zjwGr8

See the end of the work for more notes

Stripped

Abbacchio never really had the chance to enjoy a real good night of sleep, since his partner's death. Not once did he felt relaxed, nor restored.

There was a burning ache within him. He felt empty. Useless. He couldn't stop his own thoughts, thinking about how much of a failure he was. He considered himself weak. Back when he was young and full of life, he used to think that there was always hope, even in the most desperate of situations. He could stand for himself. But the dark and twisted reality soon got the better of him.

Each day was harder than the one before. The deceived policeman often considered suicide. Alcool and shitty meds were the only thing that seemed to help gather the last glimmer of hope inside of him, to refrain the temptation of ending it all.

But then Bucciarati appeared. Abbacchio found a savior in him. The man gave him a reason to wake up in the morning. He gave him a warmth, a shoulder to rely on. He'd always remember his face, out in the rain. How his words went straight to his heart, and woke up the remaining hope in him.

Hope. This word used to mean a lot to the silver-haired man. At night, when he wasn't tormented by the endless trauma of death, his thoughts would drift back to his old self. He was always torn between hatred and regret. Just how stupid and idealistic had he been ? Wanting to protect the weak, wandering late at night in dark alleys to ensure the safety of ungrateful bastards.

This wicked world. Society had crushed him upon the weight of its egoism and stupidity. Society had broke him.

But, deep down, inside of him, Abbacchio would have given everything to get back to this version of him. He wanted to be able to feel emotions other than sorrow and disgust. He wanted to believe in the world again.

And goddamn, he wanted a fucking good night of sleep. Just one.

And as if everything hadn't been harsh enough, something else was bothering the ex-cop, infuriating him beyond reason.

This fucking newbie. This fucking kid. This fucking brat.

There wasn't enough words in the world to describe how much Leone Abbacchio despised Giorno Giovanna. Everything about the teen seemed to get under his skin.

His stupid idiotic and optimistic face. The resolve in his eyes. The way he spoke, calm and collected, as if everything was always under his control. How easily he got Bucciarati wrapped around his finger. This fucking kid was going to put their lives in danger. In fact, he had already did. Everyone seemed to follow him in his foolish dream, and the worst part was that they actually fucking believed in it. Getting rid of Italy's drug trafficking had to be one of the most stupid and ambitious things ever. Abbacchio knew it both as a gangster and an ex-cop : how many junkies did he see, every fucking day, in the streets? How many families ended up broken because of some shitty drugs? All about this was stupid. All.

Yes, just like every other night, Abbacchio wasn't able to close his eyes and just sleep. A mixture of anger, sadness, and rage kept him awake, something so intense that even Monterverdi's most beautiful compositions couldn't soothe. Not even a bit.

The silver haired man, laying in his bed, turned to check the time. Well, at least, he tried. All of the drinking he had done, plus the extreme need to sleep, made it really hard to even read on a fucking clock.

Growling in frustration, he slowly got out of his bed, tying up his hair in a loose ponytail, still having his clothes on. He was too lazy to take them off and change to something more comfortable, and he honestly didn't care at the moment. A quick glance at the window made him realize how late it was. Not a soul outside, except maybe for some late night workers and prostitutes. Just as usual. _ Ah, Italy .. _

After retrieving the empty bottles of wine next to his bed, he took a second to look at himself in the mirror up his closet, perceiving his blurry figure in the dim light of the room. Smeared eyeliner. Smudged lipstick. As uncaring and detached he was, the gangster still took some time to take of the mess under his eyes, and apply his lipstick again. An old habit of him, showing off his still cautious nature, buried deep inside of him.

Then, bottles in hand, he silently got out of his room, heading towards the main room.

Nobody seemed to be here : which was quite nice to begin with. He really didn't want to have to deal with a bratty Narancia, a fuming Fugo, or worse, a _sly _Giovanna.

Putting the bottles carelessly on the counter of the kitchen, he didn't even bother to put on the lights. After all, he knew the place, and it certainly wasn't the first time he did this. And he wasn't planning to stay.

As he turned to go back in his room, his little task achieved, he froze.

Out in the middle of the doorframe was a shadow, and not just any shadow. _This slim, small frame. _

_Yet so imposing . _

"What are you doing here, Abbacchio ?"

This soft voice. This soft and yet so commanding voice. He already felt his blood boil in his veins.

"Mind your fucking business, Giovanna."

Said Giovanna, leaning against the doorframe, seemed to shift a bit. He swore he had seen a smile on his face, in the dark.

His upper lip twitching, Abbacchio quickly made his way back to the corridor leading to his room, passing just next to Giorno, giving him, as always, the cold shoulder. That fucking kid. Just being in the same room as him made his body tense.

He had only asked a question, but it was enough to anger him.

Unfortunately, Giorno wasn't done yet. He heard slow footsteps behing him : the brat had _ the nerve _ to follow him. Reaching for his headphones, the ex-cop grumbled loudly.

_Quick. _

He played the first song coming up : anything would fit, really. As long as it distracted him from Giorno.

He didn't take long for him to recognise the song.

_Monterverdi. Si dolce è' il tormento. _

_How appropriate. _

"Wait, please."

Abbacchio stopped, turning his head, putting a hand in his pocket.

The notes had already started. A sweet, angelic voice echoed in his ears. The volume wasn't high enough : he could still hear the blonde behind him. The look on his face wasn't pleased : anyone with a bit of common sense would understand how dangerous it was to bother him at the moment.

_Si dolce è'l tormento_  
_Ch'in seno mi sta,_  
_Ch'io vivo contento_  
_Per cruda beltà.._

"What the hell do you want ?", he said, sighing in the process.

The said blonde, a hand on his hip, looked at him, a serious look in his eyes. In control. As always.

_Nel ciel di bellezza _

_S' accreschi fierezza _

_Et manchi pietà: _

_Che sempre qual scoglio _

_All'onda d' orgoglio _

_Mia fede sarà . _

How infuriating.

"I've seen all of the bottles. It's not the first night, am I right ?"

As the ex-cop did not even bother to reply, even starting to turn his back on him, he kept going. What he couldn't see was the sudden tense in Leone's face.

"Bucciarati told me about your little.. Drinking problem."

The brat had touched a nerve. Leone felt his teeth clench, and the urge to leave stronger and stronger. Why the fuck did he even cared ? And why did Bruno told him ?

"Don't come at me with your fake concern."

A quick breath sucked in.

"Now go away, I need to fucking sleep."

_La speme fallace_  
_Rivolgam' il piè._  
_Diletto ne pace_  
_Non scendano a me._

The gangster probably didn't want to admit it, but he felt his heart clutch. He didn't need any concern, from anyone. He had been perfectly well minding his own business, with no one caring about him. He hated it, when people came up to him, trying to confort him, as if they were the fucking messiah.

Yes. He absolulety didn't need anyone.

He was fine on his own.

"Abbacchio."

_E l'empia ch'adoro_  
_Mi nieghi ristoro_  
_Di buona mercè:_  
_Tra doglia infinita,_  
_Tra speme tradita_

_Vivrà la mia fè . _

The voice of the singer had started to get stronger. More intense. As were the instruments on the back of the track, the violins soft, bewitching. As he turned, Abbacchio put a hand on his headphones, as if he wanted to drown in the music, disappear in it, completely.

Giorno's figure was highlighted by the white light of the moon, from the window. It was almost as if he was glowing. His whole being seemed to come directly from Heaven : there was something in him that made him... _ mesmerizing . _

Abbacchio had hoped the music would help him get away from this unnerving situation : but now he realized how wrong he was. The boy's shiny aura was nothing but emphasized bY the classical music resonating. The brat was a fucking masterpiece.

"Please, don't make it harder than it already is."

Here it was again. That voice..

Its owner had taken a step forward, in a slow motion, controlled, and confident.

_Se fiamma d'amore_  
_Già mai non sentì_  
_Quel rigido core_  
_Ch'il cor mi rapì,_  
_Se nega pietate,_

In mere seconds, he was facing him. His aquamarine eyes looking straight up in his. Abbacchio didn't know why, but his body refused to obey him. He was paralysed. A shiver of what he assumed being apprehension running up his back.

_Why was he so scared of him ? _

_La cruda beltate_  
_Che l'alma invaghì:_  
_Ben fia che dolente,_  
_Pentita e languente_  
_Sospirimi un dì..._

The music was fading away. He had reached the end of the track.. Slowly, he was left with only the sound of his own heartbeat : his body as tense as ever, he was almost sure his muscles started to hurt.

The angelic being in front of him slowly placed a hand on his shoulder. The contact made him shudder, his eyes widening. He could only blame it on the drinking.. Maybe he was hallucinating, after all.

Giorno's face slowly approached his : he stopped at his ear, standing on the tip of his toes, Abbacchio being at least a head taller than him. His hand travelled up from his shoulder to his headphones. In a soft movement, he took them off, letting them fall without a sound around his neck.

His voice resonating again, as soothing as ever, yet so stately. The silver haired man felt all of his remaining strengh fade away, with his anger, and his resolve.

"I still don't know why you hate me... I didn't do anything to you, Leone. Really.."

The ex-cop felt goosebumps all over his body. He couldn't help it : he wanted to push the kid away, to flee : but it was just as if a silent presence was preventing him from doing so, ordering him with silent orders to stay still and listen.

"...We're going to have to work together, in the next few days.. I'm sure we could become great friends.."

"..All you need to do is to let your guard down. That's all you need to do.."

Almost in a intincing way, Giorno let his hand glide back down, the tip of his fingers brushing against the leather of Leone's top. With their proximity, the man could smell the sweet cologne the boy was wearing. The smell was charming, something mysterious, yet floral.. Somewhere between the lines of feminine and masculine.

"..Please, think about it."

His face slowly moved away from where it was, his breath fading on his neck, on the way. Abbacchio was left to face him, as livid as ever, his breath seeming short. God, he almost looked as if he was going to faint in no time.

The worst of it was the smile growing on the young recruit's face. A sweet smile, pure, but yet so evil, in a way.

_That smile .. _

As quickly as he had arrived, Giorno Giovanna had made his way out of the corridor, his slim shadow fading in the dark. His distant footsteps were the only music Abbacchio was hearing, now.

His voice echoed one last time. Leaving the silver-haired man alone, confused, out of breath, and in a complete haze.

"Have a good night... Abbacchio."

His breath coming back to him, all the air the blonde had taken away going back to his lungs, he brought a hand to his face. Focusing on breathing, he closed his eyes..

What the hell had just happened ?

He couldn't even process a single thing. The alcool running in his veins wasn't helping..

His whole body felt terribly hot. As if a fever had taken upon him. As he let his hand fall back, he suddenly froze. He felt something growing up his neck... And on his top.

His eyes darting downwards, the cop couldn't believe his eyes.

Strands of some purple flower were hanging on him, some petals detaching from the base. As he took them in hand, he slowly inspected them, as if he was doubting their genuineness. He knew those.

Petals fell to his feet, some staining his top.

He was pretty sure it was.. wistaria.

_Not once in his life did Abbacchio feel so weak. And lost. _

_Not once. _

_All of that, because of an infuriating little brat . _

Afterword

End Notes

The title is from a Depeche Mode song. For anyone who wonders, wisteria symbolises something rather strong. You usually offer it to someone you either want to befriend, or conquer completely. I wonder if Abbacchio knows this, though... Next chapter will contain some reflexion.. And will bring up some serious questions for our ex-cop.  
If your ever see some spelling/grammar mistakes, please, don't hesitate to tell me. English isn't my main language, so I suppose I could have let some slide.. Thanks for reading !

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